


'cause, baby, now we got bad blood

by weasleyspotter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Humor, SHIELD Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weasleyspotter/pseuds/weasleyspotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year the Shield Academy participates in one academy wide event, and it always ends in blood, sweat, and tears. </p>
<p>But this year's going to be a little different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely inspired by a gif/drabble series on tumblr by marysuepoots. I can say that I took a brilliant idea and let my Ward x Simmons brain go a bit wild. I wasn't able to construct anything more than a drabble series, so it's going to be a fun exercise in between my other fics, right now.

*

No one knows how it began. 

Some say it began with Barton, because that’s the obvious answer to any fun and mayhem. 

Some say it went further back. May, Coulson, Fury amongst others are suggested, but frankly speaking it’s a bit ludicrous.  

The way Grant sees it, it doesn’t matter how it began, or when. All that matters is who wins. 

*

Every year there’s a Academy wide game of Capture the Flag, which isn’t an accurate description for the game, because it’s so much more than that. It’s not an official Academy run activity, in fact every year the professors unsuccessfully attempt to shut it down. 

(After all, half the thrill is keeping it all under wraps, and the risk of being caught.)

The name changes constantly, sometimes aptly called the Game, the War, or something else ridiculous. Division Wars sticks for awhile, but it fades with time. The name is trivial in comparison to the trophy. The trophy is a beaten faux gold cup that has been passed down since the start. One of the handle rattles and the other is taped to the cup, and it’s really a piece of shit, but it’s treated like a national treasure at the Academy. 

(And it’s never left Operations.)

The graduating class of every division participates, nominating three representatives to participate (it’s less inconspicuous). Each team is given a flag, and the object is to steal the other team’s flag. The only rule is that the flag must be protected on the team’s respective campus. 

(And of course, don’t kill anyone.)

*

Every April, three weeks before the games actually begin, Operations gathers in the large auditorium where speeches and lectures are given and decide who will represent Ops in the game. 

The trophy rests in the middle of them all, reminding them all of what’s at stake. 

Though these meetings are practically a joke at this point, as Operations always wins, there’s still some fun is trying to make Science and Communications lose more badly than last year.

Rumors are flying at the start of the meeting. 

“I heard that Science is nominating FitzSimmons,” one girl near the front whispers reverently. “The flag is going to be impossible to steal this year.” 

“I heard Science and Communications are planning on team up,” a male next to her counters. “Trying to even the odds against Ops.” 

“Is that even legal?” The female shrieks, her voice attracting the attention of those around her. 

“There are no rules,” the male reminds her sardonically. 

Bobbi leans in close to Grant and he immediately tenses up. He predicts she’s going to squash the rumor. Bobbi’s always had an in with Communications that he never quite understood. She claims she’s simply likable, Grant and Trip beg to differ. 

“It’s true,” she murmurs in his ear. “Sci-Ops and Communications are teaming up.” 

He glances towards her, eyebrows raised, mouth in a flat line as Trip flops down beside them with a huff. “Does it matter?” Trip asks. “Even combined we’re going to take them down. At least give them a fighting chance?” 

Everyone quiets on that note, unable to argue with that logic, unwilling to admit the possibility of defeat. 

“All in favor of Bobbi, Trip and Ward for our champions?” A voice in the back suggests meekly. 

“Team Epsilon,” Bobbi counters as Grant gives her a look. “What? I like it. Besides we need a cool strike team name if we’re going to make history.” 

“Team Epsilon,” someone seconds before Grant can strike down the name. 

And so it is decided.


	2. The Bonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the Games is finally here. But the question remains, is Grant ready for what is yet to come? 
> 
> Answer: No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For god sakes this should have been out to you a lot earlier. But whatever, here's another drabble like thingy. I'm sorry if I'm a bit rough. But I'm really enjoying how fun this series of drabbles is going to be. And I definitely can't wait to write more.

*

There’s a bonfire the night before the games begins. It’s the only Academy wide event ever, and nearly everyone who can manage to sneak out attends. Ops takes care of the location, Sci-Ops brings the beer and Communications brings the speakers. 

Normally Grant has no interest in attending, but there’s a part of him that’s curious to scout out the other team. They have to be there, it’s tradition. So it’s his first opportunity to see who the competition is. FitzSimmons is a given, which is at least one from Sci-Ops, which could leave the rest to communications. He can’t think of anyone notable from Communications other than the vague rumors of one girl that actually hacked her way into Shield. 

“What are you doing?” Bobbi snaps her fingers in front of his face, breaking him from his thoughts. She pointedly glances down at the boxes in front of him and gestures forward with her head.

“Thinking,” he replies, before he picking up the boxes and following her.   

Bobbi turns around and winks at him, “Thinking? Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“Ha Ha Ha,” Grant says monotonously, “Because I only have a few brain cells, and thinking would hurt them.” 

“You said it, I didn’t.” Bobbi says in a sing-song tone. 

“Who said what?” Trip joins them, arms full of tiki poles.

“Grant just admitted he’s lacking in the intelligence department.” Bobbi informs him. 

“Sorry Dude,” Trip shifts the poles to one arm and slaps him on the back. 

“I hate you both,” Grant grumbles under his breath, striding ahead of both of them. 

“And we all know that’s Grant for I love you dearly,” Bobbi shouts at his back as Trip cackles along with her. “Don’t deny it.” 

*

The party’s in full swing when he sees her for the first time. 

He’s surrounding by a couple of over-eager underclassmen begging him for tips, clutching a beer in hands, sorely regretting his decision to ignore Trip and Bobbi when someone bumps into him nearly spilling his beer. 

“Damn it,” his hand twists to keep the beer upright as the kids scatter around him recognizing the angry look on his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” the voice reaches him before the face. It’s a soft lilting British accent and it wipes the anger out of him. He glances up at her. She’s small, impossibly small, with curly brown hair framing her face and contrite look on her face. 

“It’s okay,” he brushes off, feeling a bit caught off guard. “I caught it, so-.” He trails off, trying to remember if he’s seen her before. 

“Still,” the girl insists. “I have to apologize.”

“Well then, I accept,” he says back to her almost jokingly. 

She squints at him and tilts her head to the side. “Are you Operations or Communications?” 

“What makes you think I’m not sci-ops?” He raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Oh,” she lets out a little laugh. “I would know if you were sci-ops.” She pauses and then retracts. “Or at least you would know me.” 

So she was sci-ops, and well known. He runs through the list of people he knows from Sci-ops, which is short. But he can’t think of anyone that could be here. Certainly she couldn’t be the famed FitzSimmons, could she? “Operations,” he finally replies to her questions. “I’m Grant, it’s nice to meet you.” 

She’s about to say something when another short brunette appears at her side with a impatient look on her face. “Jemma,” the girl snaps, “why are you talking to him?” She fixes Grant with a dirty look that he’s usually seen reserved for scum. 

He’s about to ask her if he knows her, when the girl, Jemma, shushes the other one. “You’re being rude, Skye.” 

“But Jemma,” Skye hisses. “He’s the enemy.” 

He’s not really sure what Skye means, Jemma rolls her eyes at Skye, and turns back to him. “I’m sorry,” she repeats to him, before letting Skye drag her off. “And it’s nice to meet you too,” she tosses over her shoulder at him. 

He’s a bit disappointed that he doesn’t get to talk to her more, but at least he knows her name. 

*

He joins up with Trip and Bobbi towards the end. It’s tradition to present the competing groups in front of the students. Surveying the huddled mass of Sci-Ops and communication students, he’s feeling a lot better about their chances. He exchanges a wide grin with Trip. This was going to be easy, almost too easy. 

“Welcome to this year’s Division Wars.” A bespectacled student communications begins grandiosely. “As per tradition, this bonfire marks the beginning of a long and tiring war to prove which division of the Academy is the best.” 

A few Ops students holler at this, and Bobbi nudges him in the shoulder. 

“Previously,” the student shoots them a look, “this honor lies with Operations, but we have a new change to the game. Communications and Sci-ops have teamed up in order to put up a united front.” 

“What a bunch of bullshit,” Trip murmurs in his ear.  

“This new change presents some statistically difficulties, but it evens the playing field. As per tradition, both teams will be presented with flags that represent their team. It is their job to protect their flag to the best of their ability, while attempting to retrieve the other team’s flag. The first team to make it back to their base with the other team’s flag wins the cup.” The student points to the rickety old trophy behind him.  

"Without further delay, presenting this year’s sci-ops and communications team: Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, and Mary-Sue-.” 

“It’s Skye,” the brunette from earlier hisses, shooting the student a death glare. 

“And Skye,” the student finishes quickly. 

Grant’s head whips up at the familiar name, and sure enough the Jemma from earlier was standing on the stage, a serene smile on her face. Standing next to her was a shorter man with curly brown hair, and beside him was Skye from earlier. No wonder she called him the enemy. 

“FitzSimmons is actually two people,” Trip questions in his ear. 

“Apparently,” he murmurs back, feeling a little dumbfounded. 

“And this year’s Operations team-.” 

“Strike team Epsilon.” Bobbi cuts in. 

“Yes, yes, Strike team Epsilon,” the student rolls his eyes. “Grant Ward, Bobbi Morse, and Antoine Triplett.”  

He follows Bobbi to the front and comes face to face with Jemma whose eyes widened. So she didn’t know he was the competition. This was going to be interesting. 

“So you’re Grant Ward,” she murmurs at him, as they turn towards the front to an impressive applause and cheers. 

“And you’re Jemma Simmons,” he murmurs back.

She smiles up at him brightly, and again he has that feeling of being caught off guard. For the first time, he’s not quite sure they have this in the bag, especially if she keeps smiling at him like that. 

Bobbi throws her arm over his shoulder, and brings him back to reality. He’s got this, he reminds himself. She’s just a girl from Sci-Ops, part of a really good sci-ops team, but still just sci-ops. 

“Let the games begin,” Bobbi shouts happily and all the Ops students give a loud cheer in response.

The student glares at her. “That was my line.” Then he bows his head angrily. “Freaking Operations.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, kudos and subscribe if you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, kudos, and subscribe if you enjoyed. Also feel free to leave prompts in the comments.


End file.
